


The Crash

by JessJesstheBest



Series: Lesbian Ghosts [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other, This is just a time stamp of my own original character's dramatic death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:29:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5148608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessJesstheBest/pseuds/JessJesstheBest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I've been through this whole death thing," I duck my head, "I heard the sound of my bones cracking as the steering wheel crushed my ribcage and I remember with perfect clarity the smell and taste of blood as it filled my lungs. I can still feel the water in my ears and the glass of the windshield embedded in my skin." I look up and look each of them in the eye. "I do have my reasons for staying here but, moving on or whatever… would it get rid of all that?"</i>
</p><p>Or the one where I wrote a timestamp to detail poor Mona's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crash

The headlights glance dully off of the wet roads, a leftover from the last big fall storm from this afternoon. Mona's grateful for the storm, glad for the high winds knocking out the rest of the leaves from the trees, leaving them bare and ready to accept snow. The winds are still gusting in periodically, even if the rain stopped hours ago. Mona is briefly distracted by the play of leaves dancing across the headlights like low-flying birds before she snaps her eyes back to the road.

She's thinking about her day, absently tapping the steering wheel to the song on the radio she's barely listening to. She tries to remember what she has in her fridge and whether there's the right stuff to make empanadas when she gets home.

She's driving across the bridge, breathing a small sigh of relief to be out and away from the trees. Mona's always been wary of the forests during storms, sure she's always moments away from death by a falling tree branch. The open air of the bridge presents its own anxieties but anything was better than the loamy scent of wet earth that assaults the senses when driving through the forest in a storm. It's like the earth comes up to greet you, to remind you: you will be consumed in the earth some day. This is the smell of your grave.

But still… bridges.

Mona focuses intently on the road, careful not to deviate even a centimeter from the center of the lane. She doesn't look to her right or left to see the blackness of the water around and beneath her. She doesn't lift her eyes from the wet pavement.

She doesn't see the plastic bag coming.

It had blown up from the banks of the river, presumably, and caught like a leaf in the wind had blown right into her windshield. It was like a phantom, an obstacle in the road to Mona's shocked reflexes and she swerved, forgetting there was no where to swerve.

She tried to correct before she hit the guardrail, jerking the wheel hard, but the car doesn't turn. The wheels aren't even touching the road; she's flying, the seat belt jangling uselessly against the window, her foot pumping the breaks and doing nothing, the radio playing merrily on, completely unaware of the hysterical tragedy currently in progress. She's flying, free, for seventeen seconds until she's not.

The car hits the guardrail hard.

Mona hits the steering wheel.

Sharp, white pain. Piercing, sounds like snapping twigs and shattering glass. It shouldn't be audible over the screeching of metal and the actual sounds of the wind shattering but there's sound in the pain. Over every other sound, she can hear the pain of her ribs splintering into fragments of knives, stabbing her insides.

Metallic blood, bubbling up her trachea and into her mouth. Bring back the loamy earth, bring back the smell of the grave, anything to banish the coppery blood she can smell in the back of her nose.

She's flying again, past the guardrail now, but she's not with the car anymore. She thought she had felt the maximum amount of pain she could suffer but it just kept piling up, jostling her bones, both whole and fractured, and throwing her away.

If it had been raining. If the windshield wipers had been on. If it hadn't been a bridge.

The car hit the water nose first, giving Mona that final inertia to fall through the windshield and free of the car. The windshield adds its insult, leaving her the parting gift of a glass crown and necklace, embedded in her skin and taking her blood as payment for the jewelry.

She sinks. She would worry about drowning if she had lungs in the first place to take the air. She'd been drowning before she hit the water. The river was just a formality.

She's not sure what it was that ended up killing her. The punctured lung? Blood loss? asphyxiation? Brain trauma? They all hurt, they all killed her.

Personally, though, she hopes they didn't put on her tombstone 'Death by plastic bag'.


End file.
